


Christmas lights (reflected in your eyes)

by NovaCherryCola



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: All The Tropes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, and i say that fondly i love my idiot boys, azriel is Oblivious, cassian is oblivious, everyone is in on it except these two idiots, questionable bets, the modern/human au noone asked for but i cant stop myself from writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaCherryCola/pseuds/NovaCherryCola
Summary: After Cassian makes a drunken bet with Mor, he has to take a date to the annual Christmas retreat to the mountains, or risk losing his money and his pride. The only problem is, no one will go with him.Luckily, Azriel owes him one.





	Christmas lights (reflected in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, I'd like to thank my Beta, who did a fantastic job, especially considering this was her first time working with me! Yuletide Yearnings will live on in our hearts. I'd also like to shout out my regular Beta, Mango, for always enabling me, even when I go where they can't follow. Y'all the realest.
> 
> This is the first work I've published since I was 11 years old, so let's hope it'll be a tad better. In closing, Cazriel is real, Mor's a lesbian, and Feyre has the biggest wingspan. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Edit: I will be continuing this work! For better or worse, I'm rewriting the first chapter and going from there, building a strong cache of chapters so updates won't be sporadic and disconnected. The original first chapter will be kept on my tumblr. Thank you all for your positive words and patience, I can only hope I can repay them with my fic.

Warm air ensconced the shadowy figure as he laid in wait for his quarry. Outside of the protective structure surrounding him, the air rippled with chill winds, and the beginnings of frost coated every edge and seam in sight. Pools of light broke the tentative darkness that had begun to descend on the world, and harried figures scurried to and fro. Azriel’s gaze passes over them with a barely glance, having long-since grown bored of guessing their business. He was getting impatient.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind that his prey burst from the building in front of him, wares clutched in hand and gait cocky. Azriel shifts in his seat, rearranging his jacket absently as he waits.

“Mother Teresa’s _tits_ , it’s cold.” Cassian greets as he wrenches open the door to his car, and Azriel rolls his eyes from the passenger seat. The car shifts as he clambours in; the small, objectively awful thing makes an ominous crunching noise that has Azriel tensing slightly, readying to be dropped on his ass as it falls apart around him. 

Finally, mercifully, the door is yanked shut, and nothing big falls off this time. 

“As per your request.” Cassian shoves a bag into Azriel’s lap, the brown paper collapsed under his tight grip. Azriel snorts and rolls his eyes, unrolling the fold as Cassian rips into his own meal with gusto. 

The neon yellow sign behind them blasts the car with light as they eat. It reflects off of window panes and ugly metallic paint- that particular shade of green was going to follow Azriel to hell, probably. The colours shine onto his brown food bag in a fascinatingly awful mixture, and he’s half-tempted to send a picture to Feyre, if only to annoy her with the clashing shades.

Azriel leans back into the seat as the man next to him inhales half a container of fries in a few handfuls. Cheat day had turned into cheat week, and he was going to pay for it soon enough, but for now they were both content to dig into their dinner. Az checks his phone and bites into a nugget, while Cassian focuses wholly on his meal- almost too much focus. 

“Anyone broken up yet?” Azriel takes a moment to process the question, and chews thoughtfully before answering.

“Not in the traditional sense. But Chaol got Nesryn a blender for christmas, so it’s only a matter of time.” He shrugs.

“Wow.”

 

“Bet you they won’t last long enough for him to give it to her.”

Cassian snorts, and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “The last time I was dumb enough to make a bet like that with you, you took my Blue Eyes White Dragon. Still hurts. You’re not getting me that easy, Spymaster.”

Azriel rolls his eyes at the nickname, a carry-on from years of friendship and his “freakish ability to spot gossip at ten paces” (a-la Cassian). His lips tug upwards at the memory though; in sixth grade he had bet Cassian and Rhysand’s best cards that Jenny would kiss Ellias behind the stairwell during recess. Everyone thought they hated each other. It had been a good day.

The man scorned produces a jangling ring of keys from the breast-pocket of his leather jacket, thumbing through them with one hand. He jams a scratched car key into the ignition at roughly the same time he jams a Big Mac into his mouth, the engine turning for a few agonising moments before finally sputtering into the land of the living. Cassian chomps through the food with a grin, giving the wheel an affectionate pat. 

“It’s still a piece of shit car.” Azriel half-heartedly reminds him as they back out. 

“Yeah well, this piece of shit car is driving your ass to the holiday house next week, so be nice.” Cassian clicks his seatbelt in and shifts into first gear. The car rumbles at the disturbance, and Cassian’s thumb strokes soothing lines against the steering wheel as he pulls away from the car park.

The radio crackles out a beat-heavy song while they drive, shops and lights whizzing past. The feed of Azriel’s phone presents the usual, nothing comment-worthy. The road isn’t packed with traffic, so the drive is a smooth one. 

Azriel is about to boredly switch to his library when the car takes a wrong turn- no, not a wrong turn, just one that leads away from his apartment. He doesn’t comment as they drive along familiar roads, turns and merges revealing more and more of where they’re going. The glass of his window is cool when he leans his head against it. The light-polluted sky beyond it is… okay, he thinks. It makes his anticipation build for Christmas, and the customary escape to Rhysand’s holiday house near the mountains that would begin in under a week, now (he was absolutely keeping count). The stars there were breathtaking. 

A full-vehicle rumble shakes him out of reverie, and the gear-stick grates as it’s forced back down into neutral. Azriel blinks at the building in front of them. 

“Dunkin’ Doughnuts?” He asks, tone wary. Cassian shrugs. “What do you want?”

“What,” Cassian places a hand on his chest, his almost-fully scandalised expression ruined by his dimple, “I can’t take my friends out for a treat?”

“You only take me here as a bribe.” 

“Wh- I would never,” Cassian begins, but at Azriel’s flat look trails off. It’s kind of… unnerving. Cassian notoriously does not give up, no matter what horse shit he gets himself into.

“S-so, uh,” He drums his fingers against the wheel, breaking eye contact, “You wanna at least go inside before we do this?”

Azriel crosses his arms, turning his body to face the man currently squirming - squirming - in his seat. A beat passes. two.

“Well..” Cassian forces himself to meet Azriel’s neutral stare. “I kind of uh… got into a bet with Mor…”

Azriel squints and Cassian lets out a rough bark of laughter. 

“Yeah, I know, almost as bad as betting against you. Well, anyway… shit, you know how we’re going to the holiday house?” Of course he knows. Azriel nods. “Well, I kind of… bet her that I’d have a date.”

The silence between them is hung with some weird weight. If embarrassment and nervousness was a palpable thing, it would swamp the cramped space separating the two.

“So.” Azriel pieces together. “You want me to find you a date?”

Again that laughter, a tad smoother this time.

“Er, no, not exactly.” Azriel watches strands of Cassian’s hair fall, framing his jawline as rubs the back of his neck. “I tried that and… let’s just say, not unless I want to pay for an escort. Which costs significantly more than the thousand I have on the line-”

“Wait wait wait,” Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose, “you bet a thousand? On having a date?”

“I thought Nesta would go with me!” Cassian defends.

“You know how things ended between you two.” Azriel states. It had been mutual, by all accounts- they had tried it, it hadn’t worked out. Even still.

“I know, I thought we could do it as… partners in crime, you know? Like, casual friendly fake-dating.” 

Azriel feels the beginnings of a headache.

“In no world is that a thing that would have ever worked, Cassian.” 

Cassian groans and collapses back into his seat, head in his hands.

“I know. Which is why she laughed me off and said no. Well, she said she’d do it for two thousand, the bitch.” Cassian has to smile at that- what a jerk. 

Azriel sighs. He almost doesn’t want to ask, but...

“So what do you want me to do about it?” 

Silence. Cassian still has his face in his hands, a mildly concerning gesture for the usually self-assured man. Azriel says his name and Cassian smooths his hair back, sitting up straight. He has a look on his face that sets Azriel on edge. Whatever he’s about to say, Azriel’s absolutely going to hate it.

Their eyes meet.

“I want you to be my date.”

…

Azriel know he would hate it. He knew it, but he still pried. His lip curls up a little.

“Oh, for- please? I tried everything else, you’re my plan Z. Trust me.” He doesn’t look so meek now, which doesn’t bode well for Azriel.

They had been friends for ages, and sure, maybe Azriel… admired the other man, and had been mistaken as something closer than a friend on occasion. Maybe his constant break-ins and their easy rappor had led to more than a few raised brows from their friends. But this? This was ridiculous, it would never work, and there wasn’t a chance in hell Azriel was going to take it.

“- and I swear, if there was some other way… hey, quit ignoring me, asshole.” Cassian waves a hand in front of Azriel’s face that he does not appreciate, and in fact smacks away. “Good to know you’re still in there.” 

“Don’t get snippy. You’re the one on your knees here.” 

“Wow, perv, I wasn’t thinking of going that far.” Cassian smirks for the second it takes Azriel to get it, the former obviously on more familiar territory, and the latter scowls in distaste. “Aw, don’t worry Az, I’ll be gentle.” 

Azriel rolls his eyes. “Good to know who’s receiving,” Cassian lets out a surprised shout of laughter that turns into car-shaking guffaws and snorts, and Ariel feels a little pleased even as he continues, “let’s say I was even slightly interested in pretending to date you, in front of your foster brother, my… ehem, Morrigan, and all of our other friends- what the hell would I even get out of it?”

“A thousand dollars.” Cassian answers without hesitation. 

“Really pulling out all the stops, huh?” He's surprised at the offer; Ariel had expected a good chunk of the money, and then some haggling to get the full amount. He'd still turn Cassian down at the end after getting the grand on the table though, obviously.

“I mean it, Az. At this point, I just don’t want to a: owe Mor another large sum of money, b: have Mor and, by extension, the mean Acherons plus Rhys gloat at me, and c: have to be Mor’s servant for a day.” Cassian ticks his points off with his fingers, speaking emphatically.

“Have to be…?” Azriel’s headache is coming on for sure. No doughnut is worth this.

“I might have been slightly drunk when we made this bet.” 

“... As lovely as this chat has been, I’d like to go home now.” Azriel’s statement makes Cassian’s face set in some indiscernible expression.

Cassian steeples his fingers beneath his chin. 

“Az, how long have we been friends?” He asks.

Azriel has a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, one which indicates his small apartment and lovely bed was becoming less and less attainable.

“A while.” He answers reluctantly, when it seems Cassian won’t make his point without it.

“Uhuh, and in that time, how many solids have I conducted for you?” At his friend’s silence, Cassian continues. “Do you remember the reptile incident of ‘07?”

Azriel groans. Not like this, not now, please, whatever or whoever is in charge of this universe, please...

“I’m calling in a solid you-owe-me.” Cassian announces, and Azriel groans louder. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What if I say no?”

“And break a deal?” Cassian sounds scandalous. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Azriel leans back against his seat. He has a point, damn it. The bag in his lap crinkles, and he considers throwing his food at his friend like some kind of petulant child.

“I hate you.” He relents. The barb has no sting behind it, no malice, only a resigned kind of acquiesce. 

“I’m sorry, Az, if there was some other way…” At Azriel’s stare, he amends himself. “That didn’t involve social humiliation. C’mon, if Rhys and Feyre don’t know by now, I’d be shocked, I tell you. Shocked.”

Azriel drags his hands down his face. 

“This means convincing them we’re a couple, doesn’t it?” He dreads the answer he knows is coming.

“Yeah.” 

Azriel groans loudly, pressing his palms into his eyes. 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Romeo.” Cassian says. His features look less… tight, now that it’s out in the open. 

Azriel flips him off, and he laughs. The establishment in front of them looks about as inviting as a socks and sandals contest now, the bribery of a supremely average coffee and a box of sugary doughnuts deeply underwhelming. 

“Whatever, Juliet. If I’m gonna do this with you, I’m going to need something much stronger than what some teenagers on minimum-wage can give me.” Azriel is sure of it.

Cassian nods, and slowly peels out of the spot, and into the night. On the quest for sweet ambrosia, so Azriel can drink away some of his building headache, and sleep away the rest.

* * *

Azriel wakes up the next day to the sound of Cassian letting himself into his apartment. It reminds Azriel how much he hates his life.

Hate is a strong word, but when your friend uses their key to bust open your door at 7am, shouts “Morning sleeping beauty!”, and makes it their damn business to make as much noise in your kitchen as humanely possible, you get kind of grumpy. Especially if that person is making you fake-date them in front of all your friends.

The person in question is currently whistling away, cooking something in a saucepan that hisses and spits louder than the music blasting from tinny phone speakers. Azriel groans and sits up reluctantly, scowling at the door. He lurches off his bed and into his doorway, turns on his heel and marches towards the source of the interruption.

Cassian is in his running gear, and if the large mess is on Azriel’s counter is any indication, cooking up quite the feast. He belts out a few lyrics to whatever music is playing and flips some eggs in the pan he wields. Azriel leans against the counter, arms crossed even as his stomach growls. 

Cassian’s hair is held in a high knot, fly-aways stuck to his tan neck, and it sways dangerously with him as he bops to the song. The back of his white tank-top barely does anything to hide the dark ink which marks his skin- two in particular snag Azriel’s attention. Twin tattoos which slice up Cassian’s back, curled, knotted, dark shapes twining under a thin sheen of sweat creating a vague illusion of wings. Mirror-images of the ones him and Rhysand had also had done.

Azriel reaches for the instant coffee to his left, and Cassian jumps at the sight of him. 

“Jesus, morning to you too!” Cassian pauses his movement to greet him, again. 

Azriel grunts and retrieves a cup. 

“You look like shit.” At his lack of reply Cassian gives him a once-over. “How late were you up?” then, “ You did sleep, right?”

There’s a note of concern there. Azriel wonders whether it’s directed at his bed-head, his one item of clothing (rumpled Batman boxers), or perhaps his cheery disposition. He hadn’t checked for dark circles under his eyes, but he trusted they weren’t there yet. Azriel just grunts again and sets the kettle to boil.

Cassian rolls his eyes and continues cooking, and the two move together in a familiar silence forged by years of sharing space with each other. The person in the apartment above them, an older Italian woman, turns on her radio and begins her own morning rituals that tell Azriel it’s about 10:15. The various papers and other assorted items which clutter his table are pushed aside to make room for plates piled high with toast and bacon and eggs, among other things. 

Azriel sips his coffee while they eat, his mind turning over the events of last night. Fake-dating. Right. 

Cassian attempts to steal a piece of bacon off of his plate, and Azriel deftly smacks his hand away with a fork. He leans back in his chair with a huff.

Breakfast passes uneventfully, if you didn’t count the left-hand neighbours apparently breaking their entire couch and then mourning said couch very loudly. Throughout the whole meal, Azriel calculates the steps they need to take in the time given before their trip.

At his request, Cassian fills him in on the timeline he’s constructed- a few months ago, Cassian had put the moves on, and they’d been seeing each other since then. Cassian hadn’t told him about the bet, and hadn’t said anything to Mor and the others partially out of respect for Azriel’s wishes, and partially to see everyone’s faces when that bombshell dropped. Which brings them to the task at hand: photographic evidence.

“You’re just not really a couple-pics kind of guy though, you know?” Cassian is saying, devouring the last of his toast, which drips a mixture of egg yolk and tobasco sauce onto his fingers.

Azriel hums and watches him stick his fingers into his mouth, sucking the concoction off of them with the rabid intensity of a 5-year-old. It’s absolutely disgusting.

“You, however, are that kind of guy- doubly so if you’re collecting evidence for a secret bet.” Azriel tosses him a half-full tissue box to help wipe his face. “You’re a disgusting eater.”

“I’m not putting on a show for a guy in boxers and bead-head. Mm, you have a point with that evidence thing.” He elbows away the tissues and scrapes up the last of his breakfast with a spoon.

“I know I do.” Azriel cleans up his own plate, which has considerably less mess on it and a little more food. “So, to recap. 5 days until the trip, months worth of a relationship to falsify, with a thousand dollars and our collective pride on the line.”

Cassian picks up his plate, cutlery, and glass with sticky hands, then takes Azriel’s own as well.

“See? Easy as pie.” He calls over his shoulder as he walks back into the kitchen.

Azriel sighs through his nose. He leaves to get dressed while Cassian starts the washing-up, and emerges from his room with a mostly-black ensemble which is completed by a slightly-worn hoodie Cassian had tossed into a corner one day and forgotten to pick up. It was just a tad big on him (which was impressive given his build), but wasn’t too big to be out of place- that duty was taken by the splashes of red and general Cassian-ness of the item. To the trained eye, it clearly wasn’t his, which was exactly what he wanted. 

Azriel chucks a bag of clothes at Cassian’s back and silently takes up the duty of clean-up. Cassian’s eyebrows rise as he looks through them, but he leaves to shower without comment. 

The apartment is silent but for the muffled noises of the outside world for a few blissful minutes. 

Azriel savours it while he can, because he is going to need a hell of a drink after all this is said and done.


End file.
